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THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


BABBLE  O'  GREEN  FIELDS 

and  Other   Poems 

BY 
MARK  WAYNE  WILLIAMS 


BOSTON 

SHERMAN,  FRENCH  £  COMPANY 
1915 


COPYRIGHT,  1915 
SHERMAN,  FRENCH  6-  COMPANY 


O  READER 

I  bring  my  fistful  of  pebbles 

From  the  beach  of  experience. 

I,  too,  regret  that  they  are  not  diamonds  and  rubies. 
Child,  they  are  better  than  pearls  and  emeralds. 
They  are  enchanted  stones ; 

Fashioned  by  the  great  deep, 

Laid  at  your  feet  by  the  mighty  tide, 
That  your  heart  might  know  the  leap  and  ache 
Of  vast  discovery,  and  you  exclaim, 

"  Oh,  what  if  this  were  chalcedon, 

And  that  an  amethyst !  " 


623960 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

BABBLE  o'  GREEN  FIELDS 1 

IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY 3 

BACK  TO  BETHLEHEM 4 

THE  SEAMLESS  VESTMENT 5 

THE    HIGHWAYMAN 7 

AT    FRISCO,    1898 8 

MOONLIGHT 10 

A   JUBILEE   HYMN 11 

THE    BLIND    MAN 13 

To  SHEPHERDS  WATCHING  ON  THE  PLAIN  .      .  15 

THE    PRODIGAL 17 

HYMN 19 

TONIGHT 20 

HARVEST   THANKSGIVING 21 

THE  HEAVENLY  HOBO 23 

BYE  AND  BYE 27 

A   NEW  LEAF 28 

THE  "  U  "  IN  UNIVERSE 29 

WHEN  WINDS  ARE  WHIST 30 

THE  CAVALIER SI 

THE  EIGHTH  WONDER 33 

SESAME 34 

THE   HUNT 35 

WINDOW   SHADES 37 

"  WE  HAVE  SEEN  His  STAR  " 38 

NOVEMBER    DAY 39 

FOUND  DROWNED 41 

A   LUMP   OF   COAL 42 

MODERN   MORPHEUS 44 


PAQK 

RAIN  AT  BUNKER  HILL 45 

THE  OLD   PREACHER 46 

REVERY  IN  AUGUST 47 

AN  'APORTH  OF  LANGUAGE 51 

WORDSWORTH 52 

THE  POOL  OF  LONDON 53 

PRAYER 55 

ENOUGH 56 

SONNET  IN  A[j 57 

OOMPS 58 

SUNSET  AND  EVENING 60 

THERE   WAS  A  KING 62 

THE   HITTING  OF  THK  SAWDUST  TRAIL    .      .  63 

IN  THE  LIBRARY 66 

SONOMA .67 

SPRING    BREAK 68 

LOVE'S  BIMETALLISM 70 

WHAT  PRICE  HAPPINESS? 71 

ON  A  PASTEL  PORTRAIT  OF  A  CHILD   ...  72 

EARTHQUAKES 73 

THE  CLOISTER 75 

THE    DRAMA 77 

FIRE  AND  WATER 70 

MIDSUMMER   REST 80 

"  WHEN  I  CONSIDER  " 82 

NEW  YEAR'S  GREETING 83 

HAPPY  OLD   YEAR    .                                       .      .  84 


BABBLE   'O   GREEN  FIELDS 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BABBLE  0'  GREEN  FIELDS 

O  MONSTROUS  puncheon  of  humours,  O  mildew  of 

moon  and  clay, 

Babble  in  death  with  thy  taproom  breath 
O'  the  new  green  fields,  the  dew  clean  fields, 
Green  fields  kirtled  with  May. 

0  Jack,  hast  green  in  thine  eye,  lad,  or  doth  the 

blessed  child  in  thy  breast 
Toddling  linger,  holding  mother's  finger, 
In  daisy-springing,  brown-thrush-singing,  but 
terfly-winging, 
Green  fields  mother  loved  best. 

Bowls  and  cricket  are  done,  lad,  and  the  censer 

of  twilight  smokes. 

Sweethearts  pass  o'er  the  velvet  grass 
0'  the  rare  green  fields,  the  fair,  clean  fields, 
Green  fields,  guarded  by  their  oaks. 

Babble,  they  call  it  babble,  but  it's  all  of  it  gos 
pel  true. 

Death  clears  the  pane.     Look,  lads,  again, 
At  the  aery  green,  faery  green,  ever  widening 

prairie  green  — 
Green  fields,  dabbled  with  the  dew. 


[1] 


I  know  fields  that  once  were  fair,  queenly  Ypres 

merged  in  mud. 

I  hear  the  flail  of  the  hell-hot  hail 
On  the  mad  red  fields,  the  sad,  dead  fields, 
Dread  fields  burgeoning  with  blood. 
God !  will  there  never  more  be  Spring?     Or  do  I 

babble  or  pray  ? 

Bubble  Tophet  —  babble  prophet, 
O'  the  far  green  fields,  the  star  clean  fields, — 
Green  fields  kirtled  with  May. 


[2] 


IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY 

THROUGH  life's  cathedral  from  my  organ  soul 
Recessional  surges  of  music  roll ; 
With  invisible  voices  of  fluting  song 
Nave  and  chancel  and  transept  throng. 
The  unseen  Organist  in  the  loft 
Moveth  all  moods  from  loud  to  soft ; 
Harmonic  sonance  born  of  love 
Breathes  from  the  mercy  seat  above. 


[3] 


BACK  TO  BETHLEHEM 

LET  us  go  back  to  Bethlehem. 

O'er  waves  and  dunes ;  o'er  wastes  and  downs ; 

Past  palace  turrets  and  seething  towns ; 

By  rough  ways,  smooth  ways,  ways  white  and 

red; 

From  marble  barracks  to  the  House  of  Bread; 
From  Athens,  Rome,  and  Jerusalem, — 
Let  us  go  back  to  Bethlehem. 

Let  us  go  back  to  Bethlehem. 

There  Ruth's  gleaning ;  the  mild  sheep  graze ; 

By  sweet  love's  deathbed  Jacob  prays ; 

David  plies  harp,  or  staff,  or  spear, 

Or  spills  cold  water,  thrice  too  dear, 

As  he  waits  for  his  twelve-starred  diadem : 

Let  us  go  back  to  Bethlehem. 

Let  us  go  back  to  Bethlehem. 

Heaven's  in  a  manger ;  from  one  grot  springs 

The  eternal  source  of  memorable  things. 

O  simple  of  heart,  from  one  voice  rise 

Angelic  chorals ;  from  lovelit  eyes 

Bloom  star-truths  on  their  twilight  stem: 

Let  us  go  back  to  Bethlehem. 


[4] 


THE  SEAMLESS  VESTMENT 

SOLDIERS  crucified  God's  Son: 

Hail  Tiberius'  throne. 

One  of  Carthage  deemed  him  great, 

Fed  on  Barca's  hate ; 

Venture-avid  Philip's  son 

Witched  the  Macedon. 

Ceesar,  vast  ambition's  tower, 

Lured  Italian  power; 

Stirred  Arminius'  name  like  wine, 

Freeman  of  the  Rhine. 

None  knew,  throned  on  cross  above, 

Manhood's  King  of  Love. 

Soldiers  slew  the  Prince  of  Peace : 

Grace  to  mob's  caprice. 

Lived  they  as  the  dice-box  willed  — 

He  God's  plan  fulfilled. 

Prizing  rags,  they  prized  not  Him, 

Racked  with  tortured  limb. 

Sash,  cloak,  turban,  shoes,  they  share : 

Who  shall  vestment  wear, — 

Vestment  woven  of  hopes  and  fears, 

Moist  with  mother's  tears ; 

Linen  for  priest  and  king's  delight, 

Fine  and  saintly  white ; 

No  patched  motley,  seamed  and  riven,- 

Whole  from  loom  of  heaven? 

[5] 


Who  is  worth  His  coat  to  wear? 
Cross  he  too  shall  bear. 
Prophet's  cloak  from  chariot  flung 
Makes  new  prophets  strong. 
Strong  is  he,  though  world  enticed, 
Girt  in  the  coat  of  Christ. 
Welcome,  in  such  raiment  dressed, 
Jesus'  wedding  guest. 


[6] 


THE  HIGHWAYMAN 

No  mask  we  wear ;  no  pistol  bear ; 

No  foaming  steed  bestride ; 
The  stars  beneath,  on  Hounslow  heath 

No  lawless  quest  we  ride. 

God's  holy  word  our  girded  sword, 
We  voice  our  Lord's  command; 

On  the  King's  highway  in  open  day 
We  summon  you  to  "  Stand." 

"  Deliver  " —  self,  not  sundry  pelf ; 

He  wants  your  life,  not  gold. 
A  HOLD-UP  —  yes,  till  you  confess 

Him  who  doth  life  UPHOLD. 


AT  FRISCO,  1898 

THE  SENTINEL  SOLILOQUIZES 

THE  fog-horn  shouts  through  the  sounding  bay, 

(Sing  of  battle  and  blood  and  war! ) 

And  the  sea  wind  rolls  up  a  wall  of  spray, 

A  cloud  of  pallid  and  deathful  grey ; 

A  fog  of  more  baneful  and  shuddering  chill 

Than  Indian  moonlit  dews  distill ; 

And   the   sentinel   drags   through   the   yielding 

sands 

With  his  musket  heavy  and  loose  in  his  hands, 
(How  the  fog-horn  shouts  from  the  far  off  bay!) 
For  limbs  grow  weary  and  eyelids  weigh 
With  the  enemy  six  thousand  miles  away. 

Could  battle  break  with  the  break  of  day, 
(Dream  of  battle  and  blood  and  gore!) 
With  the  cannon's  boom  and  the  charger's  neigh ; 
The  leaden  storm  where  the  Maxims  play ; 
The  shudder  of  lines  as  they  gap  and  fill ; 
The  rush  of  the  charge  to  the  topmost  hill ;  — 
Could  there  but  be  danger  from  hostile  bands, 
His    eyes    would    glow    through    the    dark    like 

brands. 

(Hark;  only  the  foghorn  off  the  bay!) 
For  limbs  grow  weary  and  eyelids  weigh 
With  the  enemy  six  thousand  miles  away. 


[8] 


We  shall  return,  where  others  may. 

(Talk  of  battle  and  blood  galore!) 

And  we'll  tell  the  story  to  those  that  stay, 

With  warful  clangour  and  brazen  bray. 

And  the  hearts  of  the  gentle  folk  we'll  thrill 

With  tales  of  bullets  and  balls  that  kill ; 

Of  terrible  marches  and  desperate  stands ; 

Of  wounds  and  sickness  in  hostile  lands. 

(How  the  foghorn  shouts  from   the  soundmg 

bay!) 

And  they'll  never  know  all  the  time  we  lay 
With  the  enemy  six  thousand  miles  away. 


[9] 


MOONLIGHT 
A  RHAPSODY 

AIRILY,  fairily,  silver  lights 

In  the  shifting  shades  are  lying; 

Dancingly,  glancingly,  sylvan  sprites 

With  the  lithe  moonmaids  are  flying. 

So  o'er  my  fond  dreaming 

Vague  imageries  fleet, 

Mad  melody  streaming 

Fantasia  sweet. 

Glintingly,  hintingly,  shadows  frail 
O'er  the  moonlit  woods  are  winging; 
Cooingly,  wooingly,  waters  pale 
To  the  shimmering  stars  are  singing. 
So  o'er  my  weird  riming 
Soft  sadnesses  fall, 
Love-memories  tuning 
A  dear  madrigal. 

Loomingly,  gloomingly,  vapours  foul 

On  hill  and  heath  are  lying; 

Drearily,  eerily,  sombre  owl 

In  the  death-dark  woods  is  crying. 

Life's  vapours  are  weaving 

Their  sad  shrouds  for  me ; 

Wails  the  heart  all  a-grieving 

A  wild  threnody. 

[10] 


A  JUBILEE  HYMN 

JUBILKE  !     God's  Church  is  breaking 
From  the  fetters  of  man's  making, 
And  to  Christly  freedom  waking, — 
Love  and  unity ! 

CHORUS 

Swell  the  rising  chorus  : 
Jesus,  rule  Thou  o'er  us ; 
Thy  word  divine,  effulgent  sign, 
Shall  flame  its  way  before  us. 
Ever  may  Thy  Spirit  leading 
Flash  Thy  truths  to  minds  unheeding. 
Make  us  hear  the  Saviour  pleading, — 
"  May  they  all  be  one." 

Long  has  fellowship  fast  slumbered ; 
Long  have  strife  and  faction  cumbered ; 
Let  our  evil  days  be  numbered : 
Sound  Thy  jubilee! 

CHORUS 

Bring  to  pass  Thy  garden  vision  ; 
Save  Thy  Church  from  the  derision 
And  the  shame  of  her  division: 
Sound  Thy  jubilee! 

CHORUS 
[11] 


May  we,  round  Thy  cross  uniting, 

Strong  in  comradeship,  be  fighting 

Age-long  ills  that  cry  for  righting: 

Sound  Thy  jubilee ! 


CHORUS 

Jubilee !     The  isles  shall  hear  it ! 
Satan's  shrinking  hosts  shall  fear  it ! 
Fill  the  whole  earth  with  Thy  Spirit, — 
Love  and  unity ! 

CHORUS 

Swell  the  rising  chorus : 
Jesus,  rule  Thou  o'er  us ; 
Thy  word  divine,  effulgent  sign, 
Shall  flame  its  way  before  us. 
Ever  may  Thy  Spirit  leading 
Flash  Thy  truths  to  minds  unheeding. 
Make  us  hear  the  Saviour  pleading, — 
"  May  they  all  be  one." 


[12] 


THE  BLIND  MAN 

The  shadow  falls  upon  the  way 

That  leads  from  Jericho, 

For  now  the  sun  with  ling'ring  ray 

Has  quenched  in  western  waters  deep  his 

glow; 

But  darkness  lies  not  deeper 
•Mid  shrouding  night 
Than  on  the  eyes  awaiting 
For  Christ  to  give  them  sight. 

Lord,  I  kneel  to  Thee, 

Lord,  I  kneel  to  Thee; 

Heal  and  save  me, 

Heal  and  save  me, 

Till  I  see,  and  know  Thy  light  is  for  me. 

The    crowds    are    surging    through    the 

street ; 

They  jostle  through  the  gate, 
And,  helpless  in  his  blindness,  meet 
The  poor  and  pitiful  unfortunate. 
They  tell  him,  "  Christ  is  coming  " ; 
That  "  He  is  nigh  "  ; 
Then  o'er  their  motley  murmurs 
There  wails  the  plaining  cry : 

"  Lord,  I  kneel  to  Thee, 
Lord,  I  kneel  to  Thee; 
[13] 


Heal  and  gave  me, 
Heal  and  save  me, 
Till  I  see,  and  know  Thy  light  is  for  me." 

The  splendour  of  the  rising  day 

Is  on  the  city  walls ; 

The  glory  of  his  new-born  ray 

On  dome  and  spire  and  gleaming  turret 

falls; 

But  brighter  than  its  beaming 
On  brooding  night 
The  love  of  Christ  is  streaming 
To  flood  the  soul  with  light. 

Lord,  I  kneel  to  Thee, 

Lord,  I  kneel  to  Thee; 

Heal  and  save  me, 

Heal  and  save  me, 

Till  I  see,  and  know  Thy  light  is  for  me. 


[14] 


TO  SHEPHERDS  WATCHING 
ON  THE  PLAIN 

BALLADE 

SILENCE  bursts  into  choral  chime ; 
From  starry  spheres  melodious  choirs 
Chant  forth  a  message  more  sublime 
Than  prophets  spake  to  Hebrew  sires. 
Hush !  hark !     The  note  its  song  inspires  — 
"  Peace  and  goodwill  " —  a  heavenly  strain 
Sung  to  the  wakeful  by  their  fires, 
To  shepherds  watching  on  the  plain. 

Across  far  fields  of  glistening  rime 
Gleam  palace  dome  and  temple  spire 
Where  priestly  pride  and  courtly  crime 
Themselves  in  showy  pomps  attire. 
Not  there  heaven's  harmony  respires, 
But  breathes  unto  a  lowlier  train 
In  whose  just  breast  no  ill  conspires  — 
Meek  shepherds  watching  on  the  plain. 

Not  from  Mt.  Sinai's  thunderous  clime, 
From  whose  dread  base  the  crowd  retires ; 
Not  Nebo,  where  in  prideful  prime, 
Lonely,  entranced,  the  chief  expires ; 
Not  from  the  hills,  those  lofty  pyres 
Of  solitude,  swells  that  refrain, — 
But  sweetly  struck  from  seraph  lyres 
'Mid  shepherds  watching  on  the  plain. 
[15] 


O  Prince,  grant,  as  our  need  requires, 
Thy  grace,  new  born  from  heaven  again ; 
The  simple  faith,  the  mild  desires, 
Of  shepherds  on  Judam's  plain. 


[16] 


THE  PRODIGAL 

OH,  fast  is  the  fall  of  the  cataract  turning 
The  sheer-sided  cliff  to  a  shimmer  of  spray, 
But  faster  the  feet  of  the  prodigal  spurning 
The  home  of  his  youth  for  a  wanderer's  way. 
Ah,  wide  is  the  way,  by  its  pleasures  attended, 
And  giddily  whisper  the  follies  that  fly, 
But  bitterer  far  than  the  sweetness  soon  ended 
The  husks  of  the  swine  and  the  filth  of  the  sty. 

CHORUS 

Father,  forgive  me, 

Father,  receive  me ; 
Far  from  the  famine  of  sin  would  I  flee. 

Thy  bounty  hath  fed  me, 

Thy  mercy  hath  led  me 
Back  from  my  hopelessness,  homeward  to  Thee. 

0  Father !  could  I  but  serve  Thee, 

1  would  be  thine  through  the  long  years  to  be. 

Ah,  drear  is  the  waste  of  the  waters  unending 
To  the  far  driven  bark  in  the  fate-haunted  gloam, 
But  drearier  far  for  the  prodigal  bending 
His  recreant  steps  to  his  once  cherished  home. 
He  sees  the  sad  wrecks  of  his  hope  once  beguiling, 
The  ghastly  reminders  of  once  beamy  day ; 
He  longs  for  the  light  of  his  father's  face  smiling, 
But  shrinks  in  his  shame  and  in  doubting  dismay. 

CHORUS 
[17] 


Ah,  sweet  is  the  waft  of  the  violin  chorus 

When  budding  hearts  wed  'mid  the  blossoms  of 

June, 

But  lovelier  still  breathes  the  melody  o'er  us 
From  the  heart  once  discordant,  now  thrilling  in 

tune. 
Ah,  glad  was  the  song  when  the  dawn  stars  were 

singing 

And  hymning  the  glory  of  God  among  men, 
But  tenderer  far  heaven's  music  is  ringing 
For  one  who  has  come  to  his  Father  again. 

CHORUS 

Father,  forgive  me, 

Father,  receive  me ; 
Far  from  the  famine  of  sin  would  I  flee. 

Thy  bounty  hath  fed  me, 

Thy  mercy  hath  led  me 
Back  from  my  hopelessness,  homeward  to  Thee. 

0  Father !  could  I  but  serve  Thee, 

1  would  be  thine  through  the  long  years  to  be. 


[18] 


HYMN 

GOD  of  our  life,  we  lift  to  Thee 
The  chalice  of  our  emptiness. 
Fill  us,  until  Thy  waters  press 
And  overflow  in  ecstasy, 
And  our  full  cup  of  blessing  lead 
To  the  wan  lips  of  human  need. 

God  of  our  light,  within  Thy  ray 
The  orient  ages  lie  empearled; 
'Tis  but  the  shadow  of  the  world 
A  moment  shuts  our  souls  from  Day. 
Oh,  rive  these  clouds  of  doubt  and  sin, 
And  ray  Thy  lustrous  glory  in. 

God  of  our  love,  the  sweet  appeal 
Of  Thee  rills  in  the  raucous  mart, 
And  pulses  in  the  painful  heart, 
And  breathes  where  fetid  vapors  reel. 
Hear,  Saviour,  our  sad  heart's  unrest, 
And  hold  us  closer  to  Thy  breast. 

From  shrouded  ways  we  cannot  see ; 
From  love  near  strangled  in  our  strife ; 
From  death  that  swallows  up  our  life ;  — 
We  cry,  O  Father  God,  to  Thee. 
Be  Thou  our  Life,  our  Love,  our  Light, 
Be  Thou  our  Dawning  after  night. 

[19] 


TONIGHT 

TONIGHT  there  kneels  in  her  chamber 
A  woman  lone  and  old, 
Dim-eyed,  and  wan  and  withered, 
Her  hair  turned  grey  from  gold. 
Alone  she  praycth  at  midnight, 
With  soundless  words  and  few, 
But  oh,  thy  mother,  sinner,  is  praying, 
Praying  for  you,  for  you. 

I  see  the  throne  room  of  glory, 

The  saints  and  angels  near ; 

One  comes  with  his  hands  nail-pierced, 

And  red  from  the  griding  spear. 

Before  the  throne  and  the  angels 

He  pleads  by  his  passion's  hue, 

And  oh,  thy  Saviour,  sinner,  is  pleading, 

Pleading  for  you,  for  you. 

The  skies  are  hushed  and  are  silent; 
Expectant  breathes  the  night ; 
The  star  of  dawning  is  waiting; 
The  sun,  afar,  thrills  with  light. 
From  field  and  forest  and  river 
Grace  waits  like  a  blissful  dew, 
And  heaven  itself,  O  Sinner,  is  yearning, 
Yearning  for  you,  for  you. 


[20] 


HARVEST  THANKSGIVING 

To  God  we  offer  praise 
For  His  autumnal  days 

And  harvest  cheer. 
Through  sunshine  and  through  cloud 
Thine  Earth  is  garland  browed, 
And  springing  mercies  crowd 

Thy  plenteous  year. 

To  God  we  offer  praise 
For  all  our  sunless  days 

Of  mist  and  moan. 
In  sorrow  and  distress 
We  were  not  comfortless ; 
Came  through  the  wilderness 

Gleams  of  Thy  throne. 

To  God  we  offer  praise 
For  all  our  gloomless  days 

With  gladness  bright. 
Thy  purer  Spirit  fires 
Sublimed  our  best  desires, 
Floating  joy's  loftiest  spires 

In  holy  light. 

To  Christ  we  offer  praise 
Who  with  us  "  all  the  days  " 
Abideth  aye. 

[21] 


Oh,  lift  us  from  the  ground ; 
Let  gracious  fruits  abound; 
May  our  full  life  be  crowned 
With  endless  day. 


[22] 


THE  HEAVENLY  HOBO 

"  Enoch  walked  with  God  " 

OH,  your  lord  may  drive  his  chariot 
From  Kadesh  down  to  Keriot, — 
Chariots  of  ease,  chariots  of  ire, 
Steam  and  steel  and  speed  and  fire ; 
Limousine  or  a  Ford  machine, 
Transit  swift  to  heart's  desire; 
Electric  car  or  whizzing  plane, 
Earth's  mechanic  arts  are  vain; 
Edison  at  heaven  balks, — 
But  Enoch  walks. 

Crook  of  knees  and  crunch  of  toes, 

Peripatetic  sainthood  goes. 

Tagged  with  scriptures,  ragged  with  promises, 

Windy  garb  to  sleek  clad  Thomases, 

Lonely  o'er  the  lilied  lawn,  lonely  down  the  lau 
relled  lane, 

Passing  —  passing  —  who  ne'er  will  pass  this 
way  again. 

Tall,  taller  than  farthest  cloud; 

Eyes  by  sun  or  shade  uncowed ; 

Head  by  heat  or  storm  unbowed; 

Stumbling  never  over  mountain  or  clod ;  — 

He  walks  with  God. 


[23] 


Uncivilised  apotheosis  of  dissent; 

Stark  Protestant,  whom  the  galleys  of  custom 

never  bent ; 

Dweller  in  the  shieling  on  the  crag; 
Brooder  of  the  universe; 
Scorner  of  tax  collector  Judas  and  his  bag ; 
Scoffer  at  Pluto's  pride  of  purse ;  — 
Thy  Declaration  of  Independence 
The  stars  have  written  in  the  seas, 
And  the  myrmidons  of  brute  ascendence 
Scattered  like  spray  in  a  winter  breeze, 
And  the  crepulous  horde  of  human  ills 
Fled  from  thy  sun  in  the  morning  hills. 

Oh,  your  lord  may  drive  his  chariot 
From  Kadesh  dozen  to  Keriot, — 
Chariots  of  ease,  chariots  of  ire, 
Steam  and  steel  and  speed  and  fire; 
Limousine  or  a  Ford  machine, 
Transit  swift  to  heart's  desire; 
Electric  car  or  whizzing  plane, 
Earth's  mechanic  arts  are  vain; 
Edison  at  heaven  balks, — 
But  Enoch  walks. 


[«*] 


For  he  agreed  to  walk  with  God 

Wherever  he  might  be ; 

And  he  found  from  London  to  Labrador 

He  was  ever  in  God's  countrie. 

Ever  Italian  amethyst  skies ;  ever  the  thrushes  in 
the  Black  Forest  sang ; 

Ever  rose  Alpine  diamond  crests,  and  the  deep 
diapasons  of  the  sea  surge  rang; 

Naples  bay,  Rhine  rocks,  dear  English  dales, 

Tyrol,  Trossach,  fiord  and  canyon,  water 
sprays  of  Wales ; 

Ever  the  fir-sloped  Sierras,  corn-plains  green 
and  great; 

Ever  the  morn  o'er  the  Golden  Horn,  or  the  sun 
set  ruddy  o'er  the  Golden  Gate: 

Blazing  wastes  of  Sahara  bloom  to  the  old  home 
sod 

For  him  who  walks  with  God. 

Oh,  your  lord  may  drive  his  chariot 
From  Kadesh  down  to  Keriot, — 
Chariots  of  ease,  chariots  of  ire, 
Steam  and  steel  and  speed  and  fire; 
Limousine  or  a  Ford  machine, 
Transit  swift  to  heart's  desire; 
Electric  car  or  whizzing  plane, 
Earth's  mechanic  arts  are  vain; 
Edison  at  heaven  balks, — 
But  Enoch  walks. 


And   God   translated.     I   caught   a   butterfly's 

velvet  wings  — 
Alas  for  their  delicate  beauty,  alas  for  petals  of 

rose  — 
Not  Pope  nor  Dryden  can  capture  from  Homer 

or  Virgil  who  sings, 
For  human  translation  ever  blights  poetry  into 

prose. 
But  God,  the  subtler  artist,  from  the  drab  of  the 

drudging  mire 

Rays  roses,  subliming  our  primeval  dust  to  im 
mortal  fire ; 
Turns  a  muddy  road  to  a  Milky  Way ;  gives 

leaden  hearts  sky-leaven, 
And  translates  the  prose  of  the  common  life  to 

the  poetry  of  heaven. 

Oh,  your  lord  may  drive  his  chariot 
From  Kadesh  down  to  Keriot, — 
Chariots  of  ease,  chariots  of  ire, 
Steam  and  steel  and  speed  and  fire; 
Limousine  or  a  Ford  machine, 
Transit  swift  to  heart's  desire; 
Electric  car  or  whizzing  plane, 
Earth's  mechanic  arts  are  vain; 
Edison  at  heaven  balks, — 
But  Enoch  walks. 


[26] 


BYE  AND  BYE 

OH,  bye  and  bye  the  blear  of  April  gloom 
Shall  burgeon  to   a  wealth  of  summer  bloom ; 
And  every  dawn  a  brighter  sun  shall  rise, 
And  every  day  shall  shimmer  fairer  skies. 
Then  with  the  roses  shall  my  life  enroll 
The  truer  treasures  of  her  deeper  soul, 
And  in  God's  vineyard  shall  my  garden  lie, — 
Oh,  bye  and  bye ;  yes,  bye  and  bye. 

But  bye  and  bye  the  meadows  will  be  sear, 
And  gone  will  be  the  gladness  of  the  year, 
The  beauty  of  the  fragile  rose  be  dead, 
And  all  the  joyous  hope  of  spring  be  fled. 
Then  shall  the  winter  with  his  arrows  smite 
The  shrinking  spirit  with  a  shrouding  blight. 
Lost !  from  the  wilderness  there  faints  the  cry, — 
Ah,  bye  and  bye ;  ah,  bye  and  bye. 

Oh,  bye  and  bye  the  lagging  hours  shall  fleet, 
And  feebler  shall  our  fading  pulses  beat, 
And  farther  shall  our  straining  eyes  discern 
The  land  of  hope  for  which  our  poor  hearts 

yearn. 

Sweet  shall  the  music  wake  our  opening  ears ; 
Glad  be  the  greetings  through  a  mist  of  tears ; 
Glorious  the  life  of  love  that  cannot  die, — 
Oh,  bye  and  bye;  oh,  bye  and  bye. 

[27] 


A  NEW  LEAF 

OUT  from  the  casement  of  the  sky 
Flutters  a  love  note  tenderly ; 
By  its  page,  brown  and  sear, 
Blotted  by  kiss  and  tear, 
A  missive  from  the  waning  Year  — 
My  old  sweetheart. 

She  pleads  in  each  fine  line  and  vein, 
In  sweet  recall,  to  her  again 
To  turn ;  but  now  a-near, 
With  sunny  smile  and  clear, 
Another  stands,  the  fair  New  Year, 
And  leads  apart. 


[28] 


THE  "  U  "  IN  UNIVERSE 

THE  morning  is  winsome  and  bright,  Love ; 
Its  dawning  has  sweetness  and  grace ; 
But  never  has  dawned  after  night,  Love, 
Such  a  dawn  as  the  dawn  in  your  face. 

The  sunshine  is  golden  and  fair,  Love ; 
The  sunshine  is  golden  and  fair; 
But  never  such  gold  has  the  sunshine  unrolled 
As  smiles  in  your  beautiful  hair. 

The  zephyr  is  fresh  and  so  pure,  Love ; 

And  sweet  is  the  dew  that  it  sips ; 

Yet  purer  your  breath  than  the  breeze  from 

the  heath 
And  sweetest  the  dew  of  your  lips. 

Ah,  fair  is  the  blue  of  the  sky,  Love ; 

But  your  eyes  have  a  lovelier  hue, 

For  they've  caught  from  above  the  pure  light 

of  your  love 
That  is  truer  than  heaven's  own  blue. 


[29] 


WHEN  WINDS  ARE  WHIST 

WHEN  winds  are  whist,  and  clover  tops  still, 

Dream,  Love,  as  the  sun  shines  warm 

And    the    mellow    light    wreathes    the    skyward 

hill,— 

Light  sleep,  Love,  far  away  from  harm. 
For  the  sweetest  dreams  are  the  dreams  o'  day, 
When  you  dream  that  your  sweetheart's  near 

you,  Dear; 

And  the  bees  hum  a  song  of  a  land  far  away 
Where  the  skies  are  aye  blue,  Dear,  and  hearts 

are  aye  true,  Dear, 
And  the  angels  and  cherubim  all  look  like  you, 

Dear. 

When    twilight    gloams,    and    the    deep    woods 

darken, 

Wake,  Love,  as  the  moon  grows  bright, 
And  the  elf-dogs  bay,  and  elf-deer  hearken, — 
Love,  awake,  Love,  to  the  witching  of  night. 
For  the  tenderest  time  is  the  time  of  the  stars 
When  your  lover  is  sitting  with  you,  Dear, 
And  Evening  from  heaven  lets  down  all  the  bars 
So  that  loves  may  pass  through,  Dear,  and  sip 

divine  dew,  Dear, 
For  all  earth  is  heaven  when  one  is  with  you, 

Dear. 


[30] 


THE  CAVALIER 

You  are  in  Halsian  days,  my  friend ;  you  seem 
To  be  no  memoried  print,  no  artist's  dream ; 
You  are  alive ;  and  even  now  quite  able 
To  take  your  seat  at  the  high  council  table, 
And  drain  your  beady  bumper  twice  or  thrice, 
And  then  could  drink  another  in  a  trice. 
Now  you  are  strutting  in  a  noble  court ; 
With  gallant  men  and  dames  you  have  resort, 
Pass  the  sage  counsel  or  the  keen  retort. 
Perhaps  in  war's  alarm  I  see  you  stand, 
With  burgher  pikemen  subject  to  your  hand, 
Sword  jewelled;  and  mayhappen  that  you  held 
The  walls  of  Leyden  in  that  siege  of  eld 
When  through  cut  dykes  the  sea  o'erwelled ; 
Or  on  some  world-winged  voyage  to  far  Ind, 
Or  sullen  drifting  by  the  westering  wind, 
The  rich  toll  of  wide  commerce  you  have  brought 
To   Holland's   freighted   hulk,    scarce   rendered 

taut 
From  tides  that  leap  her  crumbling  dykes,  and 

roar; 

And  the  still  sterner  rupture  of  invading  war. 
Yours  was  the  calm  strength  of  your  seas. 
You  held  the  torch  to  light  our  fathers'  way 
To  all  that  e'er  man's  shackled  spirit  frees 
In  learning,  trade,  religion,  and  law. 
Wear  your  brave  finery ;  that  gorgeous  lace 
Is  not  too  noble  for  your  manly  face ; 
[31] 


That  figured  silk  could  find  no  worthier  hest 
Than  to  adorn  so  adamant  a  breast, 
Whose  citadel  not  all  oppression's  storm 
Could  shake.     As  the  stern  mountain's  form, 
Jagged  with  elemental  furies,  still  is  graced 
With  all  fair,  tender  flowerets  interlaced, 
So  weave  we  o'er  your  towering  strength  sublime 
Rich,  gracious  broideries  from  every  clime, 
Unfading  memories  through  all  earth's  changing 
time. 


[32] 


THE  EIGHTH  WONDER 

NILE'S  mystic  mounts  are  brooding  still, 
Yet  man's  heart  turns  to  a  low  green  hill. 

The  Gardens  blossomed  on  Babel's  wall, 
Yet  a  single  rose  tree  out-bloomed  them  all. 

The  Phidian  Zeus  all  golden  stood; 
Man's  noblest  art  was  carved  on  wood. 

The  Carian  Marble  mourns  in  vain; 
Behold,  here  grief  and  death  were  slain. 

At  Rhodes,  Colossus  towered  high ; 
A  single  tower  has  topped  the  sky. 

Dian's  Temple,  sunlike,  shone  apart; 
One  shrine  alone  reveals  God's  heart. 

The  Pharos  gleamed  where  navies  whirled ; 
A  nobler  beacon  lights  the  world. 

Love  glorified  what  sin  made  loss, 
Earth's  sevenfold  wonder  —  Jesu's  cross. 


[33] 


SESAME 

DEATH  is  the  time  'twixt  the  bud  and  the  bloom ; 

'Tis  the  moment  when  roses  are  born ; 

'Tis  the  hush  of  the  night  ere  the  blush  of  the 

light 
Doth  herald  the  halo  of  morn. 


[34] 


THE  HUNT 

AWAY,  away  across  the  hill; 
The  fox  is  running  fit  to  kill; 
The  huntsman  here  is  surely  marking 
How  cheerily  the  hounds  are  barking; 
And  down  this  clear  November  morn 
I  hear  them  wind  the  hunting  horn. 
Just  watch  us,  in  our  hunting  togs, 
All  going  swiftly  to  the  dogs ; 
You  see  we're  all  aristocrats 
Quite  evidently  from  our  hats. 
That  keen  old  guy  in  race  attire 
Is  master  of  hounds  and  local  squire; 
He's  rather  fat  and  very  jolly, 
And  would  look  nice  served  up  with  holly. 
The  Lady  Clancy  rides  the  sorrel ; 
Her  nag  is  pretty  apt  to  quarrel, 
And  so  she  keeps  his  rein  so  tight 
While  he  pulls  on  with  all  his  might. 
Lord  Tumpty  is  the  last  chap's  name, — 
A  beastly  rider,  but  very  game; 
Some  day  his  horse  will  give  a  twitch 
And  dump  him  sousing  in  the  ditch. 
In  front  is  Lady  Caroline 
Who  thinks  her  pony  very  fine; 
While  he  thinks  she  is  quite  entrancing 
As  you  can  gather  from  his  prancing. 
When  they  have  chased  the  flying  fox 
Through  fields  and  folds  and  woods  and  locks 
[35] 


Until  the  horses  all  are  tired, 

And  all  the  scarlet  coats  are  mired, 

And  all  the  dogs  are  like  to  drop, 

And  many  riders  come  kerflop, — 

Then  the  swift  hounds  the  fox  assail, 

And  kill ;  his  lovely  brushy  tail 

They  cut  as  trophy  of  their  run 

And  the  brave  work  they  all  have  done. 

Today  they'll  give  it,  so  I  fancy, 

To  that  sweet  girl,  the  Lady  Clancy ; 

And  then  the  squire,  that  fat  old  sinner, 

Will  have  them  all  come  home  to  dinner. 


[86] 


WINDOW  SHADES 

SWIFT  on  the  wings  of  Winter 

Night  hastens  after  Day, 

Dark  flung  her  ancient  mantle, 

Ashen  her  face  and  grey. 

Keen  are  the  Night's  wind  arrows, 

Fierce  is  her  lonesome  cry, 

And  dread  and  cold,  on  wood  and  wold, 

Is  the  stare  of  her  ghostly  eye. 

The  legions  of  the  storm  king 
Come  rushing  to  the  fray, 
A  wild  and  shaggy  phalanx 
In  horrent  war  array. 
Shriek !  as  the  winds  are  shrieking ! 
Shrink  !  in  the  blinding  white. 
While  Death  and  Woe  ariding  go 
On  the  whirlwinds  of  the  night ! 


[37] 


"WE  HAVE  SEEN  HIS  STAR" 

WE  knew  the  charted  heaven :  sun,  planet,  moon, 
Fell  meteor  and  comet  —  reverend  fires ; 

Then  that  strange  star,  brighter  than  noon  of 

noon, 
Wooing  the  soul  with  new  and  warm  desires. 

Beckons  the  Star;  we  follow  with  the  eye, 
The  heart,  the  foot ;  our  life  was  in  its  sway. 

Onward  it  floated,  piercing  the  airy  sky ; 

We  stumbled  drudging  on  through  desert  way. 

It  stood,  a  beacon  o'er  the  trackless  years ; 

We  found  no  fulgent  choral  throngs ;  there 

smiled, 
Cradled  in  love  and  hope  —  sign  worthy  seers, 

Worthy  a  star  —  the  world-prophetic  Child. 

We  have  seen  Him.     The  Star  has  paled;  the 
hymn 

Angelic  breathes  too  soft  >for  human  sense. 
The  Child  lives ;  radiant,  eterne,  intense, 

Shines,  though  a  myriad  ancient  stars  are  dim. 


[38] 


NOVEMBER  DAY 

SUNKISSED  October  piles  her  plenteous  board ; 
The    frisking    squirrel    heaps    high    his    winter 

hoard ; 

Leaves  scattered  lie,  like  myriad  warriors  slain ; 
Broad  vales  gleam  brightly  with  their  golden 

grain ; 

Fair  azure  skies  melt  into  deeper  blue ; 
Far  hilltops  bathe  in  ever  mellower  hue ; 
Warm-winged  zephyrs  flit  from  bank  and  dune 
Where  wimpling  waters  lisp  their  liquid  tune. 

But  when  November  comes,  with  brow  a-gloam 

Sol  scantly  shines  through  heaven's  cloud-cur 
tained  dome ; 

Eolus'  cave  the  soft  south  wind  receives ; 

While  bustling  Boreas  shakes  the  scattered 
sheaves ; 

Rustles  the  fallen  leaves,  though  passing  light; 

Tiptilts  the  pigeon  in  her  airy  flight; 

Brushes  the  bare  boughs  'gainst  the  cottage 
thatch ; 

Whisks  through  the  chinks;  unbidden  lifts  the 
latch ; 

Chills  the  poor  peasant ;  mocks  the  croaking 
crow; 

Croons  through  the  pleasant  pine  trees,  murmur 
ing  low ; 

[39] 


Pipes  on  his  sonant  reed  a  shrilling  air 
To  rouse  rough  Winter  from  his  bosky  lair. 

Through  some  bleak  bower  or  sombre,   coolly 

glade 

Lone  wanders  Melancholy,  rueful  maid, 
In  rusted  raiment  and  of  mournful  mien, 
To  brood  upon  fair  summer's  fading  scene. 
Care's  sable  hood  hath  masked  her  brow  of  snow, 
And  furrowed  grief  hath  laid  her  roses  low ; 
A  limpid  sadness  darkles  in  her  eye 
That  ever  down  she  casts  with  pensive  sigh. 
A  frosted  lily  in  her  hand  she  bears; 
A  faded  rosebud  at  her  throat  she  wears ; 
And  in  her  bosom's  casket  holds  she  fast 
Lost  loves  and  blighted  blessings  of  the  past. 

Now  trips  sweet  Cheerfulness  at  lightsome  pace, 
With  dancing  eye,  and  rosy,  smiling  face ; 
Her   beaming  *brow    bright-painted   leaves    be- 

dight; 

Dew  diamonds  deck  her  fairy  fingers  white; 
All  robed  in  sunshine  is  she,  radiant,  warm ; 
A  zone  of  rainbows  clasps  her  supple  form ; 
And  from  her  ivory  distaff  deft  are  spun 
Fine  webs  of  dreamstuffs  rippling  in  the  sun. 

So  goes  November's  day  of  shine  and  shade 
Till  dusky  twilight  rolls  up  from  the  glade, 
And  blinking  stars  their  sleepy  eyes  do  ope, 
And  Phoebus  trundles  down  the  western  slope. 
[40] 


FOUND  DROWNED 

A  STREAM-BORNE  reek  of  rags;  dank  hair; 

Grey  face,  blear-eyes  aghast  — 
Look,  all  you  live  and  fair  1 

So  Death  floats  past ! 

Quick !  call  his  father,  mother,   friend ;  — 

Bear  up  the  fearful  freight ! 
No  hurry ;  the  dead  is  dead ; 

You  call  too  late. 

Whose    crime?     If    God's    or    men's    the 
blame, 

Bury  with  book  and  bell; 
If  his, —  then  for  his  shame 

Cross-roads  of  Hell. 

Insane?     Is  this  world-orgy  sane, 
Drink,  dice,  dance,  drivel,  mope? 

Witch-dance  of  sin  is  vain ; 
No  God  —  no  hope. 


[41] 


A  LUMP  OF  COAL 

CARBON, —  cousin  to  the  diamond, 
Only  substitute  for  sun, 
Let  others  merit  by  the  carat, 
Thine  esteem  is  by  the  ton. 

Clod,  thou  art  emperor  of  industry ; 
Stone,  thou  dost  melt  the  winter's  might ; 
Gloom,  from  thy  soot  the  lithe  flames  shoot 
And  radiant  fire  illumes  the  night. 

Black,  from  thy  heart  leaps  loveliness 
Lured  by  artful  chemist  stealth ; 
Thy  perfumes  rise  like  flower  sighs ; 
Thou  bindest  the  broken  limbs  of  health. 

Ages  and  cycles  and  a?ons  ago 
Ancient  forests  laughed  in  sun ; 
Into  them  pent  the  storm  winds  went, 
And  beauty  from  sky  and  ocean  spun. 

Medicinal  herb  and  fragrant  flower, 
Brook  babble  and  bird  trill ; 
Summers  and  springs  gave  offerings 
Their  treasury  vaults  to  fill. 

Deep,  deep,  deep  the  ocean  tides 
Roared  o'er  the  sunken  shoal, 
And  a  world's  delight  was  changed  to  blight 
As  the  forests  turned  to  coal. 
[42] 


O  Labour,  unlock  my  prison ! 

0  Fire,  leap  at  my  cry ! 

1  shall  live  again  in  the  lives  of  men 
The  glory  of  days  gone  by. 


[43] 


MODERN  MORPHEUS 

AND  more  to  lull  him  in  his  slumber  soft 

A  jangling  chime  from  high  tower  clanging 

down, 

Piano  banging  in  the  flat  aloft, 
Mixed  with  sweet  caterwauls,  much  like  the 

sound 

Of  cooing  fiends,  did  cast  him  in  a  swound. 
No  other  noise,  save  autos,  cars,  and  cries 
Such  as  are  wont  to  annoy  the  troubled  town 
Might  enter,  but  sonorous  Slumber  lies 
Wrapped   in   umbrageous   bedclothes    full    of 

enemies. 


[44] 


RAIN  AT  BUNKER  HILL 

GREY  crag,  altar  of  flags  and  wreaths, 
Wet  with  woes  unspoken 
I  take  the  Eucharist  Man  bequeaths  — 
"  This  is  my  body,  broken." 

Grey  rock  in  the  vernal  wave, 
Wet  with  unable  showers, 
How  many  christenings  do  you  crave 
To  melt  your  heart  to  flowers? 

Grey  boulder  from  Hate's  glacier  tost, 
Wet  with  undawning  grief, 
When  shall  God  pour  forth  Pentecost 
And  Love  put  forth  her  leaf? 


[45] 


THE  OLD  PREACHER 

THE  hymn  crept  to  the  hollow,  hallowed  crypt 
Of  silence,  and  each  vaporous  echoing  sprite 
Fell  fainting  starward;  wan  as  early  light 
On  sunless  surges,  one,  strengthless  and  stripped, 
Spake    poor    words,     stumblingly,    as    fungus 

lipped. 

Then,  as  the  morn  from  blear  distaff  of  night 
Garners  pale  star  threads   for  the  day-spring 

bright, 
Our  spun  gleams  to  his  glowing  focus  slipped. 

Wafts  of  warm  joy,  breaths  of  the  dawning  hour 
Lifted  the  lagging  sails  to  farther  quest ; 
Above  the  woodland  sang  a  skyborn  bird ; 
Sweet  purled  the  perfume  from  each  censered 

flower. 

Refreshed  we  rose  from  that  deep  fathomed  rest 
As  from  a  wave  an  angel's  wing  had  stirred. 


[46] 


REVERY  IN  AUGUST 

THE  brazen  sky  reflects  the  torrid  glow 
Of  Phoebus'  chariot ;  and  the  blue  expanse 
Of  firmament  is  fleckless,  save  the  gauzy  film 
That  hovers  at  the  bourne  of  farthest  earth 
And  veils  the  vast  beyond. —  Mid-afternoon. — 
All  nature  lies  in  dreamful  rest,  save  for 
The  sighing  breeze  that  moans  and  dies 
Upon  the  crested  wood  of  oak  and  elm ; 
And  Nature  sleeps. 

The  little  birds  have  sought  the  shadowed  shelter 
Of  heavy  woodlands  to  the  right  and  left,  or  in 
The  apple-orchard  on  the  rolling  hill-top. 
Tithonus  e'en  is  silent,  and  his  quavering  note 
No  more  disturbs  the  dreamer.  Lone,  a  crow 
Ungainly  flies  across  to  the  big  walnut,  standing 

far 
Beside  the  summer-straightened  channel  of  the 

spring. 

Grass-bedded  deep  I  lie  in  the  sun-filtering  shade 
Whose  scanty  leaves  but  scarcely  slant  the  rays. 
The  tall  blackberry  bushes  cast  their  shade 
Across  the  yellowed  grass ;  and  leaves  at  times 
Flit  noiseless  to  the  ground.     Afar 
The  waving  cornfields  on  the  right,  whose  tassels 

caught 

The  breath  of  summer  breeze  that  passed 
Above  the  dreamer. 

[47] 


Gold-brown  are  they ;  and  on  the  meadow's  edges 
Deep-mixed    with    sumac's    glorious    wealth    of 

crimson. 
While   the  brown   hills   mingling  with   heaven's 

blue, 

And  mantled  borders  with  their  smoky  grey, 
Are  shading  woodland  green  and  forest  dark, 
Uprcared  afar  beyond  the  clovered  mead 
Of  purple,  red,  and  white,  and  brown,  and  green, 
In  sweet  confusion  and  in  scent  as  sweet. 
What  is't  to  dream? 

To  feel  the  unreality  of  time ;  the  future,  past, 
The  present  bliss  or  sorrowing  transferred 
To  misty  past  or  future's  shadow. 
To  feel  one's  soul  drift  out  on  summer  vapours 
And  soar  to  the  ethereal  heights,  and  taste 
The  fairy  potions  of  delight,  and  quaff 
A  finer  air,  pearl  dew  and  golden  light; 
To  glide  through  intermingled  time  and  space 
All  unrestrained,  care-free;  yet  still  to  know 
The  shimmering  thread  of  life  that  holds 
The  soaring  spirit  to  the  mundane  sphere; 
To  know  unconsciously  the  fairy  airs 
Are  wafted  from  the  odorous  clover  meads,  and 

that 

The  fairy  couch  is  still  the  yellow,  mellow  mat 
Of  orchard  grasses. 

The  angel  whispers  from  the  higher  air  that  seem 
To  speak  of  younger  day,  nor  when  nor  where 

[48] 


Can  mind  recall.     What  nameless  joys 
Inspire,  what  fond  delight 
Yet  ever  dreamy,  mellow,  misty,  strange, 
As  though  the  Future  held  it  forth,  yet  Past 
Held  in  remembrance ! 

—  A  woodland  valley  in  some  charmed  spot, 
Secluded,  cool,  and  from  intrusion  free ; 

With    here    the    spring    from    Nature's    goblet 

pouring 
Down  silvery  rocks,  and  moss  and  flowered  bank ; 

—  The  river  flowing  on  through  forest  shade 
And  now  emerging  in  the  sun's  bright  beam. 
While  the  pliant  oar  lies  listless,  comes  a  face, — 
A  shy,  Undine  shadow  of  the  past, 
Haunting,  familiar,  evanescent,  strange, 

That  vanishes  into  the  vapoury  air.     And  now 
The  rapids  roar,  as  though  the  wind 
Sighed  in  the  cedars. 

And  there  the  cornfields  wave,  and  nearer  still 
The  headed  clover  to  the  breezes  nods. 
They  pass. —  A  vague,  weird  longing  for  an  un 
known  bliss, 

A  wistful  hearkening  to  a  heavenly  chord 
Of  seraph  melody,  as  from  the  lyres 
A  faint  breeze  wafts  from  far,  and  leaves 
The  soul  a-sighing. 

So  in  the  happy  isle  the  Lotus  blossoms 
Hung  tempting  to  the  eye,  and,  eaten  of, 
Embalmed  the  spirit  in  their  sweet 

[49] 


And  restful  spices; 

Soothing  from  care  and  hushing  restless  motion  ; 
Stilling  the  pulse  of  memory,  hope,  affection ; 
Lulling  the  sense  in  dreamful,  waking  slumber 
That  never  ceased. 


[50] 


AN  'APORTH  OF  LANGUAGE 

AN  acrid  old  abecedarian  of  York, 
Having  acromatopsy  and  very  dyspeptic, 
Did  not  know  the  abracadabra  of  Cork, 
For  his  language  was  awfully  acataleptic. 

A  barbate,  belligerent  Bashibazook 

With  the  brawn  of  Barnassus  and  Barmecide 

blarney, 

Met  our  friend  of  the  blear  and  batrachian  look 
In  the  brumous  and  belluine  bogs  of  Killarney. 

Calefactory  Cork  and  York  swift  circumvolve 
Cataclysms  of  speech  cacaphonous  to  folk 
Who  by  aid  of  Crystomathies  maybe  might  solve 
How  language  to  speak  as  she  ought  to  be  spoke. 


[51] 


WORDSWORTH 

NOT  as  the  playmate  of  a  summer's  day 

Sweet  Poesy  disported  at  thy  side, 

But  as  a  calm  and  contemplative  bride 

She  wooed  the  pensive  hours.      Not  as  in  play 

Thou  lookedst  on  the  nebulous  archway 

That  flung  across  the  heavens  its  suns  of  pride, 

But  by  stern  gazing,  soul  intensified, 

Didst    ravel    stars    and    truth    from    shrouding 

grey. 

Untutored  was  thy  mind  of  modes ;  alone 
Thine  eye  concentered  upon  nature's  form 
Or  bold  simplicity  of  man.     Unknown 
To  thee  the  wilder  strife  of  variant  storm ; 
But  with  thy  pure  soul  rapt  in  high  serene, 
From  Rydal's  holy  light  thou  view'st  the  scene. 


[52] 


THE  POOL  OF  LONDON 

THE  seas  are  in,  and  the  hurrying  flood 
Ruffles  the  river's  baffled  flow, 
Whose  currents  of  many  a  mingled  mud 
Reel  toward  the  ocean  tides  below 
To  get  a  whiff  of  a  norther  stiff 
That  reds  the  face  and  rouses  the  blood 
When  the  Baltic  breezes  blow. 

What   a  dismal  tangle  of  mast  and  spar, 
Of  funnel  and  tiller,  of  tackle  and  sail; 
The  huge  hulks  loom  through  the  watery  war, 
And  the  gloomy  reek  which  the  tugs  exhale 
Wreathes  the  shrouds  with  its  dismal  clouds, 
And  spreads  out  a  dense  pall  near  and  far, 
And  turns  the  daylight  pale. 

Amid  the  forest  of  masts  and  beyond, 

Rise  up  the  city's  many  a  spire; 

St.  Paul's  lifts  a  sullen  dome  unsunned 

Near  the  tower  of  the  terrible  fire ; 

While  a  flag  floats  dim  from  that  fortress  grim 

Where  monarchs  on  captives  were  ever  fond 

Of  wreaking  their  vengeance  dire. 

What  ships  have  sailed  on  this  turbid  tide? 
What  navies  of  state  and  war  and  trade? 
From  a  mart  as  wide  as  the  world  is  wide 
Rich  argosies  still  at  this  port  are  stayed; 
[53] 


And  the  myriad  needs  that  the  city  breeds 
To  the  teeming,  toiling  folk  are  supplied 
When  their  sweat  and  blood  is  paid. 

0  ships  that  fly  through  every  clime, 

1  beg  you  not  to  bring  to  me 

Sweet  gums  or  gems  or  the  manifold  chime 

Of  the  silvery  rivers  of  luxury ; 

I  have  quite  enough  of  silk  and  stuff, 

If  you'll  only  bring  in  the  briefest  time 

My  love  from  a  faroff  sea. 


[54] 


PRAYER 

I  WATCHED  where  gentle  childhood  calm  reposed 

In  trust  so  perfect,  innocent,  and  mild; 

Her   breathing  light   and   pure,   her  eyes    soft 

closed, — 

So  sweet  the  sleep  the  cherub  radiant  smiled. 
No  thought  of  harm  or  danger,  pain  or  care; 
The  guardian  presence  of  her  Lord  was  there. 

As  to  and  fro  the  sweet  breath  flitted  past 
The  portal  of  that  human  temple  fair, 
Each  gentle  heave  and  sigh  succeeding  fast 
Seemed  like  the  breathing  of  a  soul  in  prayer. 
Prayer  is  the  breathing  of  the  spirit  race, 
Exhaling  faith  and  still  inhaling  grace. 


[55] 


ENOUGH 

To  live,  not  merely  get  a  living; 
Be  to  thine  own  faults  less  forgiving; 
Shoot  aspirant  tendrils  toward  the  new, 
Yet  rootlike  cling  to  that  proved  true ; 

To  love  the  garb  and  grace  of  Work, 
For  doubts  and  rights  oft  cloak  the  shirk ; 
To  make  life  brother  to  cloud  and  clod ; 
Spend  less  on  self,  and  more  on  God ; 

To  yearn  for  flower  and  sea  and  sky, 
For  pictures  and  music  and  poetry, 
Yet  live  'mid  the  city's  muck  and  roar, 
And  be  a  Christ  to  the  callous  poor ; 

To  know  sin  more,  nor  love  man  less, 
And  still  a  full  chalice  of  gladness  press 
To  lips  that  bless  and  lips  that  curse, 
Alike  for  the  good  and  the  worse  than  worse ; 

To  pass  forgotten,  and  never  touch 

The  hem  of  the  beauty  you  love  so  much ; 

To  lift  earth  skyward  a  little  a  day ; 

To  pay  as  you  preach  ;  to  live  as  you  pray ;  — 

Though  little  indeed  all  this  sufficed, 
Enough  to  have  lived  in  the  life  of  the  Christ. 

[56] 


SONNET  IN  Ab 

MANY  the  wonders  I  this  day  have  seen :  — 
The  sun  when  first  he  swabbed  away  the  tears 
Dripped  from  the  water-spout;  the  saucy  jeers 
That  from  the  feathery  jays  fill  us  with  teen; 
The  backyard  with  its  scantness,  its  mud's  green, 
Its    chips,   tin   cans,   staves,   hoops,   and   other 

gears ; 

Its  voice  lugubrious  which  whoso  hears 
Must  fear  what  will  be  from  that  which  has  been. 
E'en  now,  dear  George,  while  this   for  you  I 

write, 

The  janitress  my  attic  room  is  sweeping 
So  scantly,  though  the  dust  clogs  breath  and 

sight, 

The  carpet  scarcely  through  the  dirt  is  peeping. 
Yet  what,  without  I  write  all  this  to  thee, 
Is  there  to  write  about  on  land  or  sea? 


[57] 


OOMPS 


BESIDE  a  dark-green  suction-poomps 

There  lived  a  maiden  fair  and  ploomps. 

One  spring  old  Death 

Got  hold  of  her  breath, 

For  everything  ends  in  oomps. 

CHORUS 

Everything  ends  in  oomps, 
Everything  ends  in  oomps, 
Her  toes  and  thoomps 
And  pears  and  ploomps, — 
Everything  ends  in  oomps. 

They  laid  her  snugly  in  her  toomps. 

Along  her  sorrowing  lover  coomps ; 

He  planted  a  rose 

Right  over  her  nose, 

For  everything  ends  in  oomps. 

CHORUS 

And  now  the  red  magnificent  cloomps 

Of  odoriferous  roses  bloomps. 

She  found  she  must 

Return  to  dust, 

For  everything  ends  in  oomps. 

CHORUS 
[58] 


We  carol  the  maiden  fair  and  ploomps ; 
She's  snugly  lying  in  her  toomps ; 
She'll  not  get  out, 
So  let  us  shout 
Everything  ends  in  oomps. 

CHORUS 

Everything  ends  in  oomps, 
Everything  ends  in  oomps, 
Her  toes  and  thoomps 
And  pears  and  ploomps, — 
Everything  ends  in  oomps. 


[591 


SUNSET  AND  EVENING 

SUNSET 

SWING  high,  swing  low, 

Over  the  rolling  plain 

The  Sun  swings  his  golden  censer, 

High-priest  at  old  Autumn's  fane. 

The  blue  sky-dome  is  the  temple, 

The  altar  the  grey  earth's  mould, 

With  its  off'rings  poured 

From  the  Year's  great  hoard, 

And  its  mounting  fires  red  and  gold. 

From  sinning  hands 

Lavered  in  crystal  sea, 

Sweet  incense  rolled  through  the  heavens 

Like  echoes  of  minstrelsy ; 

Then  out  from  the  radiant  temple, 

Reddened  with  sacred  glow, 

The  Sun  down  sank 

'Neath  the  curtain  bank 

With  its  fringes  portent  of  snow. 


EVENING 

'Neath  arching  boughs  of  green  I  lie 
While  soft  June's  slumbrous  hilltops  rise 
And  shut  the  gloaming  gates  of  day. 
Sweet  scent  of  roses,  breathing  balm, 

[60] 


Anear  my  slow-swung  hammock  blows ; 
Faint  zephyrs  fan  the  burning  brow 
Of  labour-weary  Day. 

The  Moon 

Dips  down  and  peeps  out  from  behind 
Cloud-pillars  shining  wondrous  white. 
Stars  radiant  dance  in  Night's  ballroom ; 
Now  view  their  myriad  beauteous  forms 
In  limpid  seas,  then  stately  move 
Down  heaven's  high  hall,  and  disappear 
Behind  the  silvern  veil  that  hides 
Earth's  western  windows. 


[61] 


THERE  WAS  A  KING 

THERE  was  a  king  in  Belgium, 

A  patron  of  the  arts, 
Who  furbished  palace  facades, 

And  aped  a  King  of  Hearts  ; 
He  broke  his  treaty  promise, 

And  bled  the  Congo  well. 
There  was  a  king  in  Belgium ; 

Is  there  a  king  in  Hell  ? 

There  was  a  king  in  Belgium, 

A  lover  of  the  folk ; 
He  kept  his  knightly  honour, 

And  spurned  the  Teuton  yoke 
They  crucified  his  country  — 

Famished  and  red  and  riven ; 
There  is  no  king  in  Belgium ; 

Is  there  no  King  in  Heaven? 


[62] 


THE  HITTING  OF  THE  SAWDUST 
TRAIL 

BILLY,  little  Billy,  has  been  roasting  Philadel 
phia, 

Brimstone  basting  with  the  latest  sporting  news 
of  heaven  and  hell  f  ye. 

He's  an  angel  Gabriel  honking  to  make  your 
goose  flesh  creep, 

And  the  Quaker  saints  are  rising  from  their  late 
long  sleep. 

Out  buzz  the  sinner  swarm,  devil's  own  debacle, 

Bang  the  pans  and  hive  them  in  salvation  taber 
nacle. 

Angora,  Chamois,  Cashmere,  Bighorn,  Backlot 
breeds  without  the  pale  — 

Billy-goats  are  hitting  the  sawdust  trail. 

Here  they  come,  there  they  come,  willingly  as 
Barkuses, 

While  Billy  peppers  epigrams  into  their  old 
carkuses. 

Drunk  with  nut  Sunday,  all  the  highbrows  scorn 
ing* 

They  certainly  are  off  —  at  Billydelphia  in  the 
morning. 

"  Bless  you,  Mr.  Sunday,"  says  the  pious  Presi 
dent ; 

And  "  bless  you,"  cry  the  converts,  that  crowd 
the  gospel  tent. 

[63] 


"  Damn  you,  keep  off  my  barleycorns,"  the  wall 
eyed  Brewers  wail, 

While  the  boozers  keep  a  hitting  that  sawdust 
trail. 

The  ghosts  of  Philadelphia  are  a-walking  in  the 

parks : 

Penn  cannot  rest  while  Billy  makes  irreverent  re 
marks. 
Poor  Richard  haunts  the  hallowed  halls,  making 

profuse  apology 
For  bringing  lightning  on  a  string  to  blaze  in 

Bill's  theology. 
Groans  Morris,  "  Oh,  if  only  he  in  my  place  had 

exchequered." 
Sighs   Whitefield,   "  Pm   afraid   he'll  break  my 

60,000  record." 
Says  Washington,  "  His  recruiting  would  have 

made  the  Lion  quail," 
For  there's  many  a  thousand  hitting  the  sawdust 

trail. 

Jefferson  mutters,  "  Had  I  been  so  sulphurous  of 
word, 

The  names  he  calls  the  devil  I'd  have  used  on 
George  the  3rd." 

Old  Independence  bell  is  sick,  "  The  folks  for 
sake  me  illy, 

I've  as  much  brass,  more  tongue  and  I  am  no 
more  cracked  than  Billy." 
[64] 


He's  busting  high  society,  big  business  is  for 
gotten, 

All  Denmark  gasps  to  learn  that  Philadelphia, 
too,  is  rotten. 

Blow  big  your  bulging  cheeks  of  prayer  to  a 
hallelujah  gale 

Till  the  Penrose  politicians  hit  the  sawdust  trail. 

Here's  a  toast  to  little  Billy,  may  he  live  to  lam- 
bast  us, 

He  who  stole  the  devil's  toasting  fork,  and 
taught  him  how  to  cuss. 

Knight  errant  of  the  Gospel,  may  his  keen  lance 
never  fail 

Till  the  stiffs  of  holy  Boston  hit  the  sawdust 
trail. 


[651 


IN  THE  LIBRARY 

WHEN  she  goes  by  it  seems  the  rows 

Of  classic  volumes  stand  tiptoes, 

And  sunshine  pours,  and  music  plays 

Through  all  the  book-room's  fretted  ways, 

And  each  dead  tome  with  warm  life  glows. 

I  can  well  say  from  sweet  heart  throes 

Who  past  my  prison  alcove  goes ; 

Each  fusty  hedge  leaps  all  ablaze 

When  she  goes  by. 

But  then,  alack,  no  greeting  flows 

From  her  blue  eyes,  no  zephyr  blows 

A  balmy  kiss ;  with  forward  gaze 

Which  all  my  yearning  never  stays, 

She  follows  straight  her  pretty  nose 

When  she  goes  by. 


[661 


SONOMA 

CALIFORNIA 

FROM  Atlantic  to  Pacific 
Love  leaps  the  wave  and  plain ; 
Mountain  nor  sea  can  barrier  be 
For  the  fetterless  wings  of  the  brain. 

From  the  city  to  the  valley, 
From  glare  and  dust  and  riot, 
From  raking  pangs,  from  wolfish  fangs, 
To  home's  sequestered  quiet. 

There  brood  the  sun-bright  mountains 
Over  orchard,  vineyard,  and  down ; 
The  white  roads  wind  from  hills  behind, 
By  homestead,  hamlet,  and  town. 

Through  house  and  yard  and  farm, 
Each  pleasant,  friendly  place, 
With  silver  hair  and  heart  of  prayer 
Goes  she  of  the  mother's  face. 

Across  a  stormy  world, 

And  a  world  so  strangely  wide, 

Our  hearts  still  seek  dear  old  Dry  Creek, 

And  there  keep  Christmas  tide. 


[67] 


SPRING  BREAK 

WHEN  the  skies  are  blue  and  hazy, 
And  the  fields  are  bare  and  brown, 
And  the  winds  are  kind  of  lazy, 
And  the  crows  are  cawin'  round, 
Then's  the  choicest  kind  of  livin' 
In  the  meadow,  by  the  lake, 
When  the  winter  frost's  a-givin' 
And  the  Spring  begins  to  break. 

All  around  me  is  the  lullin' 
Of  the  brooks  a-croonin'  nigh, 
And  there's  wakes  of  sunshine  rollin' 
Where  the  clouds  is  sailin'  by, 
And  the  willow's  hair's  aglowin' 
Like  a  glory  round  her  head, 
And  the  grass  and  flowers  is  throwin' 
The  snow  covers  off  their  bed. 

Then  there's  music  in  the  sobbin's 
Of  a  lonesome  summer  breeze, 
Or  a-list'nin'  to  the  robins 
Singin'  anthems  in  the  trees ; 
And  a  fellow  dreams  of  heaven, 
Wishin'  that  he'd  never  wake, 
When  the  winter  frost's  a-givin' 
And  the  Spring  begins  to  break. 


And  there  ain't  a  gladder  fellow 
When  the  sky  turns  blue  again, 
And  the  sunshine  lies  so  mellow 
On  the  woods  and  fields  and  plain ; 
For  it's  joy  to  just  be  livin' 
In  the  meadow,  by  the  lake, 
When  the  winter's  frost's  a-givin' 
And  the  Spring  begins  to  break. 


[69] 


LOVE'S  BIMETALLISM 

0  WILLIAM  JENNINGS  BRYAN,  what  have  you 

gone  and  done? 
You'd  coin  the  silver  and  the  gold  at  sixteen 

grains  to  one. 
But  America  has  turned  you  down  because,  if 

truth  be  told, 
They  wanted  silver  coins,  but  on  a  standard  all 

of  gold; 
So   now   each   silver  dollar's    free   from    silver's 

venal  faults 
For  it  means  there's  gold  to  back  it  up  in  Uncle 

Sammie's  vaults. 

When  Helen  says  her  silver  hair  is  something 
sad  and  strange 

1  say,  "  The  gold  is  very  nice,  but  still  we  must 

have  change; 
And  while  we  wouldn't  rashly  coin  grey  hairs 

sixteen  to  one, 
But  love  to  see  the  tresses  that  the  flaming  gold 

has  spun, 
Yet  when  your  hairs  are  silver,  Dear,  by  metal- 

lurgic  art 
They  bear  the  token  value  of  the  gold  mines  in 

your  heart." 


[70] 


WHAT  PRICE  HAPPINESS? 

IN  the  Devil's  bargain  sale 

Are  sin-soiled  remnants  of  happiness 
Marked  down  from  the  cost  of  a  soul,  to  less 

Than  the  price  of  a  pint  of  ale. 

Is  such  happiness  cheap?     Beware! — 

It  is  woven  of  shoddy,  and  shame,  and  sor 
row; 

It  will  shrink,  and  shred,  and  fade  tomor 
row, 
And  leave  you  the  rags  of  despair. 

Is  such  happiness  cheap  ?     No,  never ! 

It  is  sweated  from  other  men's  laboured 
fears ; 

'Tis  stolen  from  loom  of  the  yearning  years, 
Where  humanity  moans  forever. 

True  happiness  naught  can  buy. 

When  meekly  we  do  the  will  of  heaven, 
'Tis  the  priceless  blessing  that  grace  has 
given, 

'Tis  the  boon  of  the  bending  sky. 


[71] 


ON  A  PASTEL  PORTRAIT  OF  A  CHILD 

AH,  thou  art  caught  and  held  in  filmy  flesh, 
Thou  morning  beam  ;  and  though  the  gaudy  Day 
With  higher  light  and  wider  scene  enmesh, 
Yet  shall  he  not  dissolve  thine  earlier  ray. 
Thou  weavest  prophetic  futures  in  thy  loom, 
Purfled  with  promises  of  petalled  bloom. 

"  Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes,"  from  the  clear  eyes 
Of  childhood,  issues  earth's  profoundest  lore ; 
Within  thy  cryptic  crystal  swaying  rise 
Unfolding  visions  of  the  Evermore ; 
Within  thy  wreathed  shell  forever  surge 
Murmurs  from  ocean's  immemorial  verge. 

"  A  little  child  shall  lead  " ;  the  ascending  race 
Follows  a  lengthening  childhood ;  from  thee  flow 
The  subtle  sympathy  and  magic  grace 
Of  every  family  sense  and  social  glow ; 
O'er  thy  portentous  cradle  ever  brood 
A  mother's  and  a  state's  solicitude. 

"  Except  ye  so  become  " ;  the  heavenward  soul 

Is  a  perennial  childhood,  sensitive, 

Plastic  to  tender  hints  and  soft  control 

Of  every  haunting  pulse  the  zephyrs  give. 

Humanity's  divinest  diadem 

Bestars  the  brow  of  childhood's  Bethlehem. 

[72] 


EARTHQUAKES 

You  never  mind  a  cyclone ;  you  can  bear  a  hot 

monsoon ; 
A  blizzard,  or  a  waterspout,  or  twisting  tough 

typhoon ; 
But  when  you  strike  an  earthquake  —  or  rather, 

it  strikes  you, 
A    thousand    fearful    tremours    go    a-thrilling 

through  and  through. 

Our    old    theology    has    had    some    very   heavy 

knocks, 
And  people  all  are  waking  up  in  spasms  or  in 

shocks ; 
Some  think  religion's  all  played  out,  and  faith  is 

just  a-dying, 
Science  has  tumbled  Church  and  Book,  and  sent 

the  preachers  flying. 

Don't  run!  Let's  watch  the  steeples  go  smash 
ing  to  the  ground, — 

Traditions,  dogmas,  theories,  are  crashing  all 
around. 

A  middle-aged  Cathedral  or  a  grimy  old  Bastille, 

How  they  mutter,  and  they  totter;  how  they 
rumble  and  they  reel ! 


[73] 


But  some  things  stand, —  of  that  you  may  be 

sure, — 
Longer  than  stone  or  steel,  or  heaven  or  earth 

endure ; 
Above   the   smoke   and  dust   and  din,   through 

crack  and  quake  and  lurch, 
Stand  God's  eternal  monuments  —  the  Bible  and 

the  Church. 


[74] 


THE  CLOISTER 

How  pleasant  is  the  ancient,  homely  church 

Scarce  lifted  o'er  the  neighbour  cottages 

Hemming  the  square  of  green  where  lifts  the  lone 

Memorial  statue.     On  the  aging  walls 

The  ivy  trails  her  never-dying  green, 

While  near  the  blazing  May  shoots   forth  her 

bloom, 

Impetuous  of  spring.     Above  the  thatch 
Droop  an  acacia's  branches ;  a  fair  hedge 
Of  holly  shields  the  doorways ;  while  the  rose 
Makes  e'en  the  grey  stone  sensuous 
With  her  rich  hue  and  perfume ;  the  rare  arch 
Of  that  old  traceried  window  harbours  still 
The    loveliness    which    monks'    hands    have    be 
queathed 

To  those  who  took  such  heritage  with  joy, 
But  spurned  what  monks  thought  better  dower 

still  - 
A  narrow  faith  and  fierce,  unkindly  zeal. 

Here  is  the  heart  of  England;  see  how  quietly 
The  home  is  clustered  near  the  church ;  the  past, 
Nameless  and  named,  stands  here  in  this  still 

square 

While  life  goes  on  amid  such  atmosphere 
Of  reverent  institution,  custom,  faith. 
Age   leans   on   youth,   and  takes   her   customed 

round 

[75] 


Along  the  fair  walks  cincturing  the  green, 
With  head  and  body  bowed,  thinking  of  many 

things, 

While  youth  looks  dreamy-eyed,  yet  does  not  see 
Beyond  the  roofs  of  home,  or  the  acacia's  sprays, 
Or  brilliant  hawthorn,  or  the  ivy  green. 
No  child  plays  on  the  lawn ;  the  mower  swings 
His  keen  scythe  through  the  tender  grass ;  adoze 
Are  aged  men  upon  an  ancient  seat  beneath 
The  statue ;  while  two  mouldering  clerks 
Discuss  a  week-old  paper  whose  stale  news 
Is  the  one  breath  in  this  sequestered  calm. 
And  yet  how  beautiful  the  fringed  lawn 
Which  smiles  with  many  a  daisy  fair  and  mild. 


[76| 


THE  DRAMA 

THE  stars  are  scintillating ;  the  glittering  scenes 

unroll 
With    tinsel,    blare    and    gaud,    to    cloak    their 

poverty  of  soul. 
The  musky  fair,  the  sweating  crowd,  applaud 

the  silly  sally, 
The  platitude,   the  mossy  jest,   the  leer  from 

Leper's  Alley. 

So  this  is  "  nature's  mirror,"  this  humanity's 
best  school, — 

This  vapid,  vaunting  play  that  skims  the  sea 
son's  shallow  pool? 

Life's  teeming  currents  touch  not  here ;  they  seek 
the  farther  sea, 

Where  melt  time's  dateless  margins  in  the  vast 
eternity. 

Life's  drama  does  not  glister  upon  a  gilded 
stage; 

'Tis  not  police  court  sewage,  nor  society's  out 
rage; 

Its  pomp  is  not  of  parliaments,  and  kings  and 
golden  lords ; 

It  does  not  scream  with  suffragettes,  nor  fight 
with  bombs  or  swords. 


[77] 


Here's  drama  —  that  soul  battling  with  his  dour 
est  sin ; 

This  climb  through  thunderous  crags  without ; 
that  burst  through  toils  within. 

And  greater  far,  on  Golgotha,  in  supreme 
tragedy, 

A  Saviour  crowns  His  dying  love  with  immor 
tality. 


[78] 


FIRE  AND  WATER 

WHAT'S  half  so  charming  as  a  winsome  face 
Rimmed  in  the  window  of  a  Shaker  bonnet, 
Blushing  and  dimpling,  though  with  downcast 

grace, 

While  her  dark  hair  hath  gleams  of  rain  upon  it. 
Ah,  sweeter  thus  than  any  wilding  rose 
Peeped  through  the  dewy  tangle  of  the  brier ; 
When  snowy  lids  her  liquid  eyes  disclose, 
This  maid-o'-the-rain  doth  set  my  heart  afire. 


[79] 


MIDSUMMER  REST 

WHY  dost  thou  in  the  city's  fearful  hum 
And  the  hot  stupors  of  the  civic  press 
Endure  life's  fevers?     Why  not  hither  come 
And  in  this  placid  field  thy  patient  soul  possess? 

Here  the  ambrosial  grasses  feed  the  flocks ; 
Here  the  sweet  nectar  of  the  brook  flows  by ; 
Cool   boughs   assuage   the   sun's   fierce   summer 

shocks ; 
While  warm   woods   bask   in   silence,   drowsing 

goldenly. 

Deft  nature  charms  her  very  self ;  she  sighs, 
Leans  pensive  on  her  elbow,  and  looks  long 
Into  this  glowing  mirror  whose  fair  skies 
And  brighter  hues  and  shapes  to  miniature  be 
long. 

The  kine  reflective,  on  the  watery  marge 
Revolve  the  memory  of  a  former  feast ; 
One  loves  the  laving  flood,  and  like  a  barge 
Stands    moored   and   shadowed,   a   most   philo 
sophic  beast ; 

One  quaffs  the  sparkling  stuff  and  finds  it  wetter 
Than  all  the  cooling  brews  that  art  distils ; 
One  broods  on  glassy  forms  that  here  beset  her ; 
And  one,  contemplative,  beholds  a  light  beyond 
yon  hills. 

[80] 


Chop  down  those  trees ;  drain  off  that  limpid 
stream ; 

Drive  all  those  cattle  to  the  flesher's  pen ; 

Build  on  these  sites  ;  fog-blurr  that  skyey  gleam ; 

Crowd  streets  with  jostled,  stifling,  and  despair 
ing  men. 

Who  bids  ?     The  civilising  power  that  lifts 
Weak  folk  to   strength,  that  makes   the  lowly 

great  ? 

Nay,  let  me  lie  and  watch  the  filmy  drifts 
Of  sky  and  stream,  and  keep  my  humble  shep 
herd's  state. 

I'll  trade  six  million  souls  for  only  one 
With  me  to  dwell  in  simple  pastoral  bliss ; 
Her  amber  spirit  pervades  the  quiet  noon 
And  lends  a  softer  light  to  gentle  scenes  like  this. 


[81] 


"WHEN  I  CONSIDER" 

WHEN  I  consider  graces  constellate 

In  thee  who  art  my  universal  sky, 

Stars,  moon,  and  fleecy  clouds  but  aggravate 

The  chilly  night  of  thine  austerity. 

And  though  thy  kindly  beauty  dews  my  grove, 

Shall  I  ne'er  see  the  flush  of  morning  gleam 

And  the  rich  rising  of  thy  sunny  love 

Gladden  the  roseate  hill  and  silver  stream? 

Canst  thou  no  horoscope  of  love  relate 

From  the  astrology  of  Cupid  drawn? 

Is  there  no  star  reveals  a  kindly  fate 

And  bravely  leads  the  entrance  of  the  dawn? 

For  the  hot  vanguard  of  the  feverish  day, 

Grant  that  not  Mars  but  Venus  lead  the  way. 


[82] 


NEW  YEAR'S  GREETING 

BACK  to  thy  Sun,  O  erring  Earth, 
From  winter's  sad  undoing, 

And  Spring  shall  have  her  second  birth, 
And  Nature  her  renewing. 

Thermometers  can  but  record, 

Kind  hearts  can  rule  the  weather ; 

Though  wintry  days  be  on  the  board, 
Let's  summer  it  together. 

Let's  have  dull  skies  aglow  with  May, 
Bare  boughs  agleam  with  cherry, 

Have  coral  isles  in  Baffin's  Bay, 
And  June  in  January. 


[83] 


HAPPY  OLD  YEAH 

ST.  SYLVESTER,  motley  jester, 

Prances  through  Milwaukee  town. 

Throngs  the  crowd,  bellowing  loud, 

Down  and  up  —  up  and  down. 

Clang  —  clang  —  bells  all  bang  — 

Wild  the  welkin's  roar. 

Sirens  scream,  spouting  steam ; 

Snarling  discords  snore. 

Horns  hoot  —  trumpets  toot, 

Writhing  into  riot; 

Swirls  of  noise  —  girls  —  boys  — 

Flood  the  fields  of  quiet ; 

Music  halls  squeal  squalls ; 

Fiddles  screech  in  cafe ; 

Saints  from  church  —  drunks  a-lurch  — 

Howling  midnight  daffy. 

Zany  hope  —  parrot  dope  — 

Froth  of  frenzied  brewin' ; 

'Raus  mit  ihm  —  old  pipe  dream ! 

Hoch  the  happy  new  one! 

Suddenly  still  the  blatant  trumpery  noise ; 

Through  the  hush  comes  a  holy,  vast  diapason, 

Demiurge  from  the  cosmic  organ  deaf  Beethoven 
played  on, 

Sublime  to  create  a  dozen  eternal  Troys. 

Then  I  knew  that  Methusaleh  walked  for  cen 
turies  nine, 

[84] 


While  heaven  was  rayed  with  truth;  asphodels 

blue 

With  beauty  brushed  his  sandals ;  he  drank  wine 
Of    goodness    from    old    beakers,    beaded    with 

Eden's  dew. 

Illusion,  fragrance,  and  mystery,  prismic  three 
From  which  are  woven  life's  fibril  harmony, 
Star-throated  sang  when  earth  with  morn  was 

brave ; 

Rolled  with  the  primal  seas  from  strand  to  cave ; 
Swept  the  Eolian  elms  in  the  pristine  wave 
Of  the  wandering  Invisible. 

Lean  thy  breast 
On  ancient  ruins ;  read  faded  letters  from  cedarn 

chest ; 

Gaze  at  old  paintings  of  old  places ;  range 
Old  memories  of  old  millenniums  strange. 
Old  friend,  as  dear  as  old,  hand  clasping  mine, 
Tell  me  quietly,  with  the  voice  of  auld  lang  syne, 
That  Jbhe    happy,    happy    old    year    shall    not 

change. 


[85] 


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